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Nie Mingjue never wanted to be the man who didn’t get along with his father-in-law. The fact that Jiang Fengmian has reduced them to these tired tropes only irritates him further.
As someone who’d lost his father young, he can’t deny he spent his adolescence with the hope that his eventual father-in-law might help fill the paternal gap, be someone he could be close with and learn from. An idle and almost guilty wish that perhaps they could even fulfill a different kind of stereotype: swapping tips for manning the grill (never mind that Nie Mingjue’s never been the best cook), and sharing a beer and advice late into a slow, summer night.
Maybe because of those fantasies, Nie Mingjue had always gotten along wonderfully with his previous boyfriends’ parents. It’s not too surprising; he’s got a great job, is filial to a fault, and knows how to walk the line of touchiness and avoid falling into either the “too much PDA” or “too cold” camp.
So when Jiang Cheng had hesitated to let them meet three months after they became an official couple, Nie Mingjue had fucked up. He’d reassured Jiang Cheng it would be fine. Jiang Cheng had spoken of potential disappointment, of delaying the meeting, but Nie Mingjue hadn’t been too worried. He hadn’t meant to minimize Jiang Cheng’s concerns, but he'd also wanted to reassure Jiang Cheng that he was in it for the long haul, meeting the parents, dividing up holidays between both of their sides, and all those other wonderfully long-term problems that quietly thrill Nie Mingjue. Nie Mingjue trusts the love between them and, again, parents love him.
It had taken just shy of fifteen minutes before Nie Mingjue had a makeshift icepack made of a dishrag and a few cubes of ice wrapped around his knuckles.
And honestly, he thinks he deserves a medal for those fifteen minutes.
He’d tried to see the best in Jiang Fengmian at first. Had hoped, given the benefit of the doubt. After all, he's responsible for Jiang Cheng's existance. He has the same nose as Jiang Cheng does, the same little bump that Nie Mingjue could spend hours kissing (or, Nie Mingjue grudgingly supposes, Jiang Cheng has the same nose as Jiang Fengmian does). And the man could be charming, exuding a disarming friendliness as he shook Nie Mingjue’s hand. Sure, it was a little strange that they were meeting at a bar by Jiang Fengmian's work rather than at a proper restaurant or one of their homes, but Jiang Fengmian hadn’t said anything when Nie Mingjue declined to drink anything, just ordered a double rum and coke for himself. And that had seemed like a good sign.
So Nie Mingjue had laughed a little at Jiang Fengmian’s story at first, thinking it was a gentle ribbing, the classic mildly embarrassing story that you share with your child’s significant other. So what if Jiang Cheng had to try out for his middle school baseball team three times?
Then Jiang Fengmian kept talking, story after story, the “joke” stretching, getting meaner, his true feelings seeping through the paper-thin veneer of humor as he listed perceived failure after failure, comparison after unflattering comparison. As he went on, his voice thinned to a mosquito's whine in Nie Mingjue's ear.
Then Nie Mingjue had seen Jiang Cheng’s face.
It wasn’t a look Nie Mingjue had ever seen before, and it wasn’t one he ever wanted to see again. Jiang Cheng’s face was strangely still and his eyes were fixed on some far-off point in a distant, deadened stare. It was like… Jiang Cheng wasn’t even there.
Nie Mingjue squeezed Jiang Cheng’s hand gently, wanting his love to come back to him. It had worked, sort of.
Jiang Cheng seemed to come back to his body a little, gripping back at Nie Mingjue’s hand a little too tight. But when he turned to face Nie Mingjue, his eyes were filled with resignation. Unlike his previous vacant stare, this expression was painfully familiar; Nie Mingjue had seen it all too often when they’d first gotten together and were stumbling their way into proper labels. Back then Jiang Cheng had been convinced at every turn that Nie Mingjue wasn’t serious about them, was just looking for some fun and was inevitably going to leave. And Nie Mingjue had taken far too long to realize that actions alone weren’t going to make Jiang Cheng realize how he felt.
The memory of his own missteps combined with Jiang Fengmian’s continued background drone sent a hot rage coursing through Nie Mingjue’s veins.
“I don’t see what’s so funny about that,” he said stonily, and Jiang Fengmian stuttered, story interrupted.
Jiang Fengmian had attempted to recover with a conspiratorial chuckle, like they were on the same side. The assumption only makes the blood in Nie Mingjue's ears roar louder.
“Well, I didn’t think it was very funny either,” he said. “I mean who does want to be confronted with the fact that their son is a complete, utter failure who can’t even understand the basics of the company in front of all his associates, right?”
Contrary to popular belief and his long hours logged at the boxing gym, Nie Mingjue doesn’t actually enjoy violence. He certainly doesn’t enjoy playacting the sort of toxic masculinity where the boyfriend struts around like the new “owner” and the father-in-law responds by waving a shotgun about.
But that? That was enough to make Nie Mingjue abandon any previous plans and pacifist ways.
Nie Mingjue won’t deny his satisfaction when the blow landed right on Jiang Fengmian’s nose, on that wonderful bump that Nie Mingjue loves on his wonderful boyfriend, that Jiang Fengmian absolutely does not deserve to be in possession of.
Then the stool beneath Jiang Fengmian had clattered to the floor and what he’d done hit Nie Mingjue. He turned to Jiang Cheng to—well, not apologize, but maybe to explain, but Jiang Cheng hadn’t said anything, pausing only to grab a towel and some ice before tugging them quickly towards the back door.
And now they’re here.
They’d been moving pretty quickly, but Nie Mingjue knows that Jiang Cheng has done lengthy workouts at the gym and their escape should have been a breeze for him. Still, Jiang Cheng is bent over at the waist, hands on his thighs as his breath comes fast and ragged. Nie Mingjue isn’t sure if he should touch him, or if that will just make it worse. He settles for crouching so that he’s at Jiang Cheng’s eye level.
“That was—sorry, Mingjue,” Jiang Cheng finally manages to gasp.
Nie Mingjue frowns. “Why are you apologizing?”
“It’s just—I know how you wanted this to go well. And your family, your dad.” Jiang Cheng straightens, wrapping his arms around him.
Nie Mingjue’s heart twinges. He can’t resist the urge to touch his boyfriend anymore, and he stands to draw Jiang Cheng in close, tucking Jiang Cheng’s bent head under his chin with a little effort. He inhales, savoring the familiar scent of his boyfriend’s hair, simple and clean as unscented soap, even in this dirty alley.
“Don’t worry about me,” Nie Mingjue says firmly. “I’m here for you, not your father.”
Jiang Cheng shudders in his arms.
“I’m sorry for not understanding when you were hesitating about meeting your father. And for losing my temper and resorting to violence,” Nie Mingjue says, and he means it. Just because Jiang Fengmian was asking for it doesn’t mean he should have stooped to his level.
“I’m not,” Jiang Cheng admits, and there’s guilt written all over his face. “What kind of son does that make me?”
“That man is not your father, not in the ways that matter. You don’t owe him shit, no matter what he says.” Nie Mingjue's voice is steady and sure. Some things in life are obvious to Nie Mingjue, and this is one of them. And if Jiang Cheng doesn’t care that Nie Mingjue punched his father, then Nie Mingjue certainly isn't going to let it keep him up at night.
Jiang Cheng slumps a little. “Maybe I don’t, but I’m scared this means I’m going to lose my family,” he whispers. “And… they’re everything to me.”
“You won’t lose your family,” Nie Mingjue promises. “You have your sister. Her husband. Jin Ling. Wei Ying and Huaisang. Lan Huan and Meng Yao. And me. Always me, for as long as you’ll have me.”
As Nie Mingjue lists each name, he can feel the tension drain not only from Jiang Cheng’s shoulders but from his own as well.
The alley they’re standing in is dim, the ground beneath their feet uneven, and his knuckles stinging. But he feels whole and at peace.
His own father may be gone and, if things go with Jiang Cheng the way he wants and believes they will, he will never have the father-in-law he imagined either. But they’ll have each other, their siblings, and everyone else who they may not have specific terminology for, but who are every bit their family.
And that’s more than enough.